At the start of the hour, before the journey into the past, I jotted down in my notes that the shot of stark headlights on a pitch-dark American roadway in the middle of nowhere was a classic Lynch image, at once familiar and terrifying. But that was a good 10 minutes before Lynch went full “Eraserhead,” transporting us to an otherworldly dimension wherein a humanoid figure belches out a viscous stream of ominous ovoid shapes.